Harry's Hallelujah Groove
by Kits
Summary: Michael wanted to tell him something. Harry, though he would never be accused of being observant, noticed.


Michael wanted to tell him something. Harry, though he would never be accused of being observant, noticed.

Unfortunately, the things Michael wanted to tell him were always things like, "Oh, by the way, Harry, can you help me build a tree house for the kids that will take ten hours of intensive labor?" or, "Harry, I meant to mention, but we found my daughter practicing love spells, care to explain?" or, "Harry, watch out, there's an invisible ghost about to eat your face!". It was for this reason that Harry decided that cowardice was the better part of discretion and screw valor altogether; he drove the Blue Beetle on in silence. Michael, for his part, fidgeted.

"Harry," he began uncomfortably. Harry deliberately did not give him any encouragement, inwardly wishing that there was a working radio he could turn up to drown out his best friend. It was terrible, but for once things had been going well, and he wasn't looking forward to hearing something that would undoubtedly destroy this fragile balance he had going.

"Yes, Michael?" he said patiently after taking a big breath and steadying himself. The Beetle coughed alarmingly.

"Well, the thing is, Harry, I've just been talking to some people and your name came up…"

The Beetle sputtered and Harry focused on controlling his anxiety. Desperately. He so did not have the money to pay for repairs this month, not unless he wanted to see if the landlady was really serious when she said she'd evict him if he skipped rent again. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

There was a tense silence in the car. Harry's innate aversion to uncomfortable situations and finite patience warred against each other, until finally the latter rallied for a final assault with its close ally, curiosity. "What? What is it, Michael, spit it out."

"I just wanted you to know that," Michael shifted, turning more towards Harry and looking at him earnestly, "Well, what I mean to say is, I may not agree with your lifestyle, but I still love you. Like a brother."

Harry shot him a weird look. "Yeah, I know. The whole magic thing freaks you out. The whole God thing kind of freaks me out too."

"Harry," Michael said disapprovingly. "I meant your _other _lifestyle choice." The way he emphasized "other" sounded vaguely ominous to Harry, who had a long and sordid history with people italicizing certain words with their voice, suggesting something terribly unpleasant loomed on the horizon. "I just wanted to make sure that you were being safe about these things. Because I mean, it's bad enough that you date vampires—"

"Susan is not a vampire!" Harry protested. "She's working on it, okay? It's not her fault."

Michael's face actually was sympathetic and concerned in a way that Harry's could never be. He knew; he had tried once, with Bob acting as a mirror. Bob had said, quote, "Maybe you should take fiber pills once in a while." He hadn't tried again.

"But … other people are much more dangerous, and it's all just very…"

"Michael, I don't have a clue what you're talking about," Harry said honestly. The Beetle seemed to take a deep breath, then waited for Michael to explain.

"That you're—you know," Michael trailed off. Finally he shrugged. "Gay."

The Beetle died. Harry barely noticed, gaping open-mouthed at his friend, a Knight of the Cross, who was very now studiously trying not to meet his eye while shouting, "Harry! The car! The car!" loudly in his ear.

Jerking the steering wheel, he managed to guide it onto the shoulder with a minimum of fuss. He pulled the hood open and watched mournfully when it let out a puff of black smoke. "Shit."

"Harry."

"Sorry," he said, though inwardly congratulating himself on editing his curse that much. The word he originally wanted to say would have Michael all in a tizzy. Tizzy, when did he start using words like that? When he met Michael, that's when. Stars and stones, he needed to get out more. Speaking of getting out.

"What _are _you talking about, Michael?"

Michael scratched at an eyebrow, then poked around the engine cautiously. Unlike Harry, who felt that he had some masculine identity to uphold whenever his car broke down, despite not knowing a gear shift from a dipstick, Michael may actually know what he's doing. Holy Car Repair, Batman!

"Charity simply mentioned your name and then someone said that her hairdresser—"

Harry groaned. Of course this would come back to Thomas. Everything came back to Thomas.

"Michael, really, I can explain—"

"No, no, Harry, Jesus ate with the lepers, not that I'm saying you're a leper, and really, some of those verses about homosexuality are really—"

"Michael, seriously, will you just—"

"And who am I to judge, anyway? I mean, I try not to. Being a Knight is no excuse for that sort of thing, you know, and we should be humble in the eyes of the Lord—"

"MICHAEL!" Harry bellowed. Michael stopped and looked at him with mild surprise.

"Yes, Harry?"

"I'm not gay!"

Michael's face went all compassionate and stern, in that way that made Harry fervently glad he had missed out on a normal childhood because then he had no comparisons to make for his inner feeling of inexplicable shame that arose like when a small child has been faced with his mother staring down at him, hands on hips, and tapping foot awaiting an answer.

"Harry, you have Cher on your record player," Michael pointed out gently.

"That's not mine," Harry protested, shoving at the Beetle's slowly leaking tire with one foot. When the engine of a car looked like it had been Frankensteined out of a mad mechanic's laboratory of spare parts, things like checking tire pressure seemed almost prosaic. He mumbled, knowing in a dim part of his mind that he was not really helping his case, "Besides, she's very catchy."

"I'm just saying," Michael continued gently, bending to do something delicate and ornate with the fuel pump, "that certain… traits have been called to my attention and I just wanted to let you know that it makes absolutely no difference in our friendship. You are the same man that I met and respected years ago."

"Thank you, Michael, that means a lot to me," Harry said sincerely. "It would probably mean much more if I were actually gay."

Straightening and wiping his greasy hand on a handkerchief pulled from his pocket, Michael smiled at him. "I'll be here when you're ready to admit it."

Though Harry's normal guide to choosing battles included which one was the most pressing and or the most likely to have him meeting Michael's Maker, he decided that this was one best left unfinished.

"So what's wrong with it?" Harry gestured vaguely to the valves, gaskets, and what looked like bubblegum and a piece of plastic haphazardly holding something vaguely vital looking in place.

Michael glanced at the car then rolled his eyes.

"We ran out of gas, Harry."

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